


Guacamole

by meido



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU - Chipotle, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meido/pseuds/meido
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>levi meets erwin for the first time at a Chipotle while ordering a burrito bowl</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guacamole

            “Can I get a burrito bowl?” Levi requested. He didn’t have to ask, he knew – they would give him whatever he damn well demanded. Still, burrito bowls were the cleanest option while still granting him an entire, hearty, disgusting meal of fast food filth. He could even request a tortilla if he was feeling especially brave and get the entire burrito experience, but that was a little eccentric, for today. He watched the server fill the bowl with a layer of rice, then said, “Black beans, please. ” _Please_. What a fucking prince he was. Like it really mattered. Once he stated his choice of meat (carnitas, like it needed saying – everything else was over-spiced bullshit) the server slid it down to the next person, who pushed the jam-packed burrito he was working on to the cashier and looked expectantly at Levi.

            “Salsa? We’ve got mild, medium and – “

           “Medium,” he interrupted, not ready to hear the spiel on the differences between the red and green hot salsas. He really didn’t care. It was overspiced bullshit. “And a little sour cream.” He watched intensely as the server scooped the cream out, eyeing the amount like an eagle eyed its victim. One wrong move and he’d cram the sour cream down his over-sized throat, he swore to god – but then he chose the right amount, amazingly, and the server escaped unscathed.

            “Any guac today?” the server asked politely, relief awash on his face at escaping near death (or so Levi was sure).

            “Yes,” he said slowly. It cost extra. A whole dollar and twenty five cents extra. He could purchase an over-priced soda for that much. But it was a good day, and he was ready to spend it on this gift to himself. The server put a generous dollop atop the bowl, as if another gracious thank-you for Levi not destroying him for the sour cream thing, and he finally pushed it to the end, where the massive burrito still was, wrapped in two foil sheets – the first must have ripped, Levi observed.

            “Sorry,” said the exceedingly tall man, no doubt the owner of said burrito. It was about as full as he was tall. “Go ahead of me, I’m just trying to find my extra ten.” Levi gave him a look, then turned to the cashier, who looked equally disbelieving.

            “Sure,” he said, lifting a few napkins from the end of the line. The cashier read him his price after he declined any drinks (he wasn’t stupid – drinking anything but milk or other bases would merely make the acidic spices worse on his tongue; this must be how they make their true profit), and Levi handed the money over easily, giving the man a glance as if to say _look how easy this is, to be a normal human being with a wallet within simple reach_. As he picked up his prize, a well-portioned, nice burrito bowl as compared to the monster of the one the other man couldn’t even pay for, he leaned a bit further to pick up a fork. The man suddenly said, “Here it is!” and moved his arm forward, a bill in it. Levi moved out of the way, but it was too late – the sudden clash in movement caused the burrito bowl to slam into his chest, a disgusting _squelch_ hitting Levi’s ears and making his eyes widen in shock.

Levi slowly lowered the bowl, finding the entire bowl mostly unscathed, save for one thing – the dollop of perfect, dollar-twenty-five guacamole, now decorating his collared shirt that was _just dry-cleaned_ in a disgusting, green blob.

“Oh, goodness,” said the man in surprise. Levi looked at him, speechless. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me help – “

“Order me another,” he rasped. The man stopped, an unspoken question written on his face. “The guac.”

“What? Oh – Right, it seems like – “

“Do you fucking know how much that shit costs?” _A dollar twenty five extra_. “What kind of piece of shit are you? Losing a ten dollar bill on your own person? That thing could buy eight entire containers of that shit. Do you fucking realize that?” The man stopped, as if counting in his head, but Levi kept going. “My meal is fucking ruined unless you buy me another fucking container of this shit right now.”

The servers and cashier had both stopped, looking from Levi to the tall man. The entire line of three people were stuck staring at them, too, but Levi didn’t care. _He wanted his fucking guac if it would kill him._

“Sir.” They both turned their heads to look at the cashier. “You handed me a twenty.” She showed the tall man the bill, Jackson’s eyes twinkling richly at them.

“Great,” he said, nodding. “Eight guacamoles, please.” Levi stared at him incredulously.

“Eight... containers, you mean?” the cashier tried.

“Yes.”

The server began filling them in silent disbelief as the cashier marked them onto the total. Levi kept his eyes on the other man, unwilling to look away and appear weak or accidentally spare a glance at his destroyed shirt. The man didn’t seem fazed, which only made him angrier, but not showing that too blatantly was a good skill Levi had (he did not have it, but he liked to think he did in times like these). The cashier finally handed the change and bag full of guac to the man, who handed the latter to Levi.

“Terribly sorry about this,” he said, pocketing the change in the same pocket he’d found the bill in. Levi took the back with a simple _tch._ “Could I pay for your dry-cleaning?”

“You fucking better, if you want to walk out of here alive.” He watched him fish in his pockets, not with any hurry or nervousness but dutifully, and soon presented a business card to him.

“Send me the bill, I’ll take care of it.” Levi snatched it, pocketing it without even looking at the name.

“You fucking better,” he repeated. The man smiled at him, tilting his head in greeting, and headed for the door with his disgusting burrito. Levi made his way to an open table, sitting down slowly, then carefully found the card in his pocket and glanced it over carefully.

“You will pay,” he muttered to himself, throwing it into the bag of guacamole. His day was looking to be grand as shit.


End file.
